


The Open Book Affair

by prepare4trouble



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-26
Updated: 2002-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THRUSH has a new weapon, a boy that can read minds and alter thoughts. And Illya is on the receiving end of their demonstration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1: A Nasty Surprise

The California sun was beating down on his head and beads of sweat beginning to fall into his eyes. It was too hot for Illya's liking, he wasn't cut out for heat, you only had to look at his complexion to tell. Still, he had coped with worse.

He was crouched out of sight uncomfortably behind a small hedge that concealed him from view from the window of the tall building. He wiped his hand across his brow and adjusted his position to get a better view of the door. It was still shut, locked tightly and he had no way to get in other than sitting and waiting until some unsuspecting THRUSH agent walked out and didn't realize what hit him. He had been waiting for nearly two hours in the midday sun of one of the hottest days of the year.

The assignment was supposed to be easy. Follow the THRUSH agents to find out where they were keeping the boy, overpower a few guards, rescue the child and report back to Waverly. Napoleon was crouched next to him, looking cool as a cucumber. Illya treated him to an irritated stare and Napoleon smiled back cheerfully.

The boy in question, Karl Jung, was an unusual child. If the reports were to be believed, he had abilities Illya would not have thought possible. Despite the heat he shivered slightly, then hoped that it was because of the thought he had just had and not the beginning of heat stroke.

Privacy was important to Illya, he didn't like the idea of someone knowing things about him that he didn't care to share. He had experienced things that he sometimes wished he could forget, he certainly wouldn't want to talk about them, and if someone could simply look inside your mind and see them for themselves… It was something that the Russian did not want to think about. In THRUSH's hands the boy could prove deadly. Not only could he see your thoughts, he could alter things. Your mind was his playground, he could do what he liked. There was little wonder THRUSH wanted him, and little wonder UNCLE planned on keeping him from them. The boy's mother just wanted him home safely, but Illya suspected UNCLE's long term plans might involve using the boy for themselves. It was what he would have done.

Finally the door opened and a single, uniformed THRUSH guard walked out. Illya quickly and quietly disarmed him and knocked him out, then they crept through the door, hearing the lock click shut behind them. The sudden, acute change in temperature was a huge relief. It was good to be cool again.  
Several floors above, a boy nodded to a dark gray haired man in an expensive suit, "He took the bait." He said in German.

The man nodded back with a slight smile. "Keep watching until he arrives," he told him.

Karl closed his eyes and watched as the two haired UNCLE agents overpowered another guard and entered the lift. They had no idea which floor they needed, and decided to split up and check one at a time. "This will take a while." Karl told the man.

Napoleon Solo crept along the deserted corridor, opening each door and checking inside. Each one was empty except for the occasional old desk or cardboard box. Surfaces were covered with dust, it felt as though he was the first one to walk there in years. The supposed THRUSH base was an old, unused office building. He began to wonder whether they were in the right place. Something about the whole thing didn't feel right.

The day before, they had returned from meeting the boy's mother in Bremen, Germany. Michael Jung, the boy's grandfather on his mother's side had apparently worked for UNCLE for almost thirty years. He had died seven years ago, killed in action. The boy's father had been killed in a robbery at work before his son was born and before he married the child's mother. The boy, now aged 15 had apparently managed to keep his strange abilities from his mother.

When he disappeared she didn't know who else to turn to but UNCLE, she had had no idea how to contact them, only knowing they existed because of her father, and by the time she did, her son had been missing for almost two months. In all that time she had never contacted anybody else about his disappearance, not even the local police.  
It had been unusually easy to track down the boy, and that was when they heard the rumour about what he could do. It had all been too simple, and that was what had Napoleon worried. He had mentioned that anyone who went to California was probably walking into a trap, but Waverly had insisted they had to check it out, they had no real reason to doubt the story, and if THRUSH were involved in the kidnapping they had to stop them.  
"One of them has reached floor 9, the Russian." Karl informed the suited man, who moved his head slightly in acknowledgment. He didn't really need to give any outward sign that he had heard. The child would know, THRUSH's genetic manipulation had seen to that. This whole exercise was as much a test of the boy's abilities as a way of letting UNCLE know that they were in trouble. To him it seemed like a waste of time, but he didn't get to make those kind of decisions. Someone higher up had decided scare tactics was the way forward. Making UNCLE realize the weapon that they had and the ways it could be used against them would hopefully also make them realize they could not win and perhaps convince them to stop trying. If anything, Mr. Uebel thought, it would anger them and make them step up their efforts against THRUSH. But it was not up to him to decide. He did what he was told.

"Excellent, he will be here soon. What can you tell me about this agent?"

The boy quickly told Mr. Uebel everything he could about Illya Kuryakin and Uebel made a decision, gave the boy his instructions, so the UNCLE agent would not hear the plan, then sat calmly down in the chair behind his desk and waited.

The guards at the other side of the room tensed, realising it was almost time, and the door opened a crack. "Come in, Mr. Kuryakin," said Uebel in a welcoming voice, not wanting to seem as though they had been taken by surprise.

Illya, on the other side of the door, had been taken by surprise, he froze for a second, amazed that he had finally found an inhabited room and shocked to realize that he had been identified. Then remembered who he was dealing with.

'It must be true, the boy can read my thoughts.' He thought to himself, then realized that thought had probably been heard too He suddenly felt a surge of anger, he felt violated and vulnerable and he didn't like it.  
He opened the door fully, his gun drawn, ready to fight. Immediately the two guards ran at him. Illya ducked out of the way of one, deliberately putting his foot in the other's way. They landed, one on top of the other, on the floor behind him. One guard got up and gave Illya a hard punch in the face. He retaliated and as the guard was about to hit again, Illya blocked then hit him hard on the back of his head with his gun. The guard went down.

"Most impressive, Mr Kuryakin," the THRUSH agent in the suit told him.

Illya pointed his gun at the man. "Let the boy go." He ordered.

Uebel shook his head, "No, I don't think so, Mr Kuryakin, you see the boy would much prefer to stay with us. Wouldn't you Karl?" Karl nodded. "And despite your little display with my guards there, I think you will find there is very little you can do about it."

Illya took a step forwards, his gun still ready to fire. He kept his eye firmly on Uebel but spoke to the boy, "Karl, whatever he has offered you, it is not worth it. You belong at home, with your mother. She is worried."

Uebel sighed. "I have had enough of this," he told Karl, "end it." Illya found his hand dropping to his side against his will, he tried to move it back but found that it wouldn't go. He could not move any part of his body. "That's better," said Uebel, "I really don't enjoy having guns aimed at me." He looked the blond man up and down carefully, "Now then Mr. Kuryakin, it seems you have managed to acquire one of our uniforms, I assume some poor guard as been deprived of his clothes?"

"Not all of them." Illya assured him.

Uebel sighed, "Let's get to business. We have known you were in the building since you walked through the door, yet we did nothing about it. Why would that be?" Illya made no reply so Uebel continued. "We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, we have a demonstration to make. You see, the boy here has some unique talents, he can read your thoughts, he can prevent you from pointing guns at me, he could drive you insane with a single thought. We needed to lure an UNCLE agent here to give UNCLE a little demonstration." He paused for a second before continuing, "Don't worry, Mr. Kuryakin, this won't hurt, it may just prove to be a nasty little surprise for you when you wake up."

Uebel looked at Karl and the boy looked back, then turned his gaze towards Illya, who managed to say "Don't…" before he lost consciousness.

Illya woke up with a groan and rubbed his head, it felt like it had hit the floor when he passed out. He has expected to be in some THRUSH prison, but a quick look around proved that he was in the same room he had been in before, only it was empty. Before there had been a desk, chairs, papers, a photograph, a potted plant, all the usual clutter associated with an office where someone spends a lot of time. Now it was all gone as if it had never been there. He got up and left the office, trying the next room. It was empty too, no surprise there, all the other rooms in the building had been empty. His watch told him that he had been unconscious for less than fifteen minutes, yet they had managed to clear the entire room and disappear.

He checked his pocket for his communicator, it was still there, and called Napoleon.

"Which floor have you reached?" he asked.

Napoleon answered that he was about to begin searching floor fourteen. He had been searching the even numbered floors, Illya had taken the odd numbers. "It's strange, there's no one here." He said, "It's like no one has been here for years. If THRUSH are here they're keeping quiet about it."

"They are here," Illya told him. "I have just woken up on floor nine, the boy was here. They have gone now. We seem to have walked into some kind of trap."

Not a huge surprise to Napoleon. "What happened, are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

"I think so," Illya told him, rubbing the back of his head again, "but I am not certain, I was promised an unpleasant surprise."

That couldn't be good, thought Napoleon as he headed for the stairs. THRUSH rarely failed to deliver on a promise like that. "I'll be right down" he told Illya.

He met Illya in the corridor of floor nine and rushed towards him. "Are you all right?" he asked again.

Illya nodded but he wasn't sure whether he was telling the truth. Something didn't feel right, he just didn't know what it was. He was worried. They could have done anything to him without his knowing it. Mind control was not a fun idea. "I have a headache, but I blame that on a combination of sun and hitting my head." He said.

"You Russians weren't built for heat, were you?" said Napoleon, trying to keep the atmosphere light. Still, until they found out what, if anything had been done to Illya, Napoleon was going to watch his back. He didn't want any unpleasant surprises either.


	2. Act 2: Practical Jokes

Illya's headache had grown steadily worse on the way to the airport, eventually he had given in and taken some strong pain killers. Now he was siting next to Napoleon on the plane, fast asleep and snoring quietly. Napoleon smiled slightly to himself. The younger man's cheeks were red from the sun and laying asleep like that he looked like a little boy who had worn himself out playing outside for too long. If only he had been sucking his thumb, it would have been a perfect image. For a moment he contemplated how easy it would be to insert Illya's thumb into his mouth without waking him, but decided it would be too difficult, although it would have been worth it to see the embarrassment on his friend's face when he woke up.

Instead Napoleon passed the time looking out of the window and reading the emergency landing procedure until they finally arrived back in New York, where they would have to explain to Waverly why THRUSH managed to get away with the boy.

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he said, gently nudging the sleeping Russian.

Illya's eyes blinked open and he looked around. "We're there already?" he asked.

Napoleon nodded, "You slept the whole flight, how's your head?"

He had forgotten about the headache, it seemed to have completely gone, the painkillers had done their job. "It's fine." He said.

They left the airport and took a taxi to Del Florio's. At UNCLE's offices, Illya had to explain to an increasingly worried Waverly exactly what had happened with the THRUSH agent and the boy.

"And you are sure you have no idea what this surprise is?" asked Waverly for the third time, as if he was hoping Illya would suddenly realise.

For the third time, Illya shook his head. "No sir, the man simply said they wanted to give UNCLE a demonstration and I may find a nasty surprise."

Waverly sighed. He didn't like the sound of that at all. The Russian could have been programmed to do anything and they wouldn't know about it until after it was done. The only thing he could take some comfort in was that whatever was going to happen would probably happen soon, THRUSH would want to give them their demonstration quickly. "All right, Mr. Kuryakin, take three days off, I don't want to take any risks, if you still don't know what it is we'll have someone watch you to make sure nothing happens." It was the best he could do. It was possible that nothing would happen at all and THRUSH's plan was something else entirely. Everyone would have to be extra careful. He decided not to mention this matter to anyone else yet and advised Illya and Napoleon to do the same.

Illya looked especially glum as he left, not looking forward to the idea of three days with nothing to do. "Cheer up, Illya." Napoleon told him. "It's like a holiday, three days off to do what you want, you're lucky. You can…" he stopped, suddenly realizing he didn't actually know much of what Illya did when he wasn't working. They met up for a drink sometimes, but the Russian never talked about himself. Napoleon had no idea whether he had family, or even whether he had any friends. He made a mental note to find out one day and planned to go to see Illya while he was off duty. "You'll find something to do." He said eventually.

Illya sighed. He couldn't relax. He couldn't treat it as a holiday, not when he couldn't stop thinking about what could happen. He couldn't work either though, he may have been compromised, it was too big a risk to take. He had been amazed that he was only given three days off, it was almost as if Waverly thought there was no risk.

Back at his apartment, Illya made himself a quick meal and wished for the fiftieth time that he had decided to search the even floors. Then he felt immediately guilty because he was in effect wishing Napoleon had been caught by THRUSH. He just wished he knew what was going to happen, if anything was going to happen. He didn't like surprises, not even 'good' ones. He preferred to be in control, knowing everything about everything. Napoleon had tried to organize a surprise birthday party for him once, he remembered. He would probably never do that again.

Dinner finished he considered washing up, decided it would wait until morning, it wasn't as if he had anything to do, and picked up a book he was reading from the table next to his bed.

Illya opened the book at the page with his bookmark and blinked in surprise. He rubbed his eyes and tried to get them to focus on the words, but they weren't words, they were bizarre meaningless squiggles that looked as though they had been written upside down and back to front. In desperation he turned the book upside down and tried it that way, still no luck.

Trying to quell the rising panic, he took a deep breath and pulled another book from the shelf at random. This one was different, he knew the letters but they spelled words he did not understand. His breathing had grown quicker, he was on the verge of hyperventilating. Trying to stay calm he picked up the first book again. It was a collection of short stories written in Russian. The second was in French. Desperately he looked along the shelf, searching for a word he could understand, then he found it. English. The English words made sense, the others were gibberish to him.

It was crazy, it didn't make sense. Why didn't he notice earlier? He frantically searched through his mind for words, any words, any language other than English. There were none. Was it possible that he had forgotten fourteen languages, including his mother tongue, in one day? Of course it was, the boy had done it. He didn't know why, but he knew who, that was a start at least.

His hands were shaking as he reached for the telephone and tried to dial Napoleon's number. There was no one else he could talk to, and that was almost literally. It took seven rings before the telephone was answered, Illya didn't even wait for a 'hello'. "Napoleon? Something had happened. I need to see you." He said.

Obviously not as calmly as he had hoped because the voice on the other end of the line was heavy with concern. "Illya? What's happened." Asked Napoleon. The answer he got shocked him to his soul. Not a word, but what sounded like a badly concealed sob. "I'll be right there." He said, slammed down the receiver and ran out of the door.

The traffic had not been bad, it had taken Napoleon less than ten minutes to get to Illya's apartment building, park his car, get impatient with the elevator and run up the stairs.

He knocked on the door and got no reply, so he opened it himself. It wasn't locked, which was the first thing that surprised him. The second was seeing his partner and friend sitting at a table staring at a pile of books. "Illya," he said gently, "Illya, what is it?" Illya turned to face him and the third shock of the night was the fact that it looked like he had been crying. "What happened?" he tried again. He knew it must have something to do with the events in California.

Illya's voice was steady, as if a strange calm had come over him, he said, almost matter-of-factly, "I seem to have forgotten how to speak Russian."

If there was any answer Napoleon was expecting, that wasn't it. He wondered if he has heard wrong, "Erm, did you just say…"

"That I have forgotten how to speak Russian, and how to read it. Not only Russian, French, German, Italian, Japanese…" As he said each language he dropped a book onto the floor with a loud thud. "I only have English left."

Napoleon sat himself down at the table opposite his friend, "That was THRUSH's surprise? But why?" he was talking more to himself than to Illya, "They could have done anything, why would they chose something so harmless?"

"Harmless?" said Illya, "I have been harmed. They have taken away my mother tongue, left me able to communicate only in English. And the worst part is that I did not realize until now. Have I become so westernized that I neglect my own language in favor of yours?" He let his head sink down and rest on his arm that was sitting on the table, "Perhaps I deserved this."

"I didn't mean that, Illya. I meant they could have used you to bring down half of UNCLE if they'd wanted, but instead they play some sort of practical joke." He realized that was the wrong thing to say too. "No, I meant they…I think I need a drink. You have anything?"

"Vodka in the kitchen." Illya told him. Napoleon went to fetch the bottle.

Illya knew why THRUSH had chosen what they did. The boy had read his mind, he knew the worst thing he could do and he had done it. Illya worried constantly about losing touch with his homeland, he feared that he was becoming too westernized. Now he had lost what felt like his last tie to Russia. THRUSH had wanted to torture him, and they were managing it.

He felt completely lost and alone. A stranger in a foreign country, and he just wanted to go home.

"Can't you just learn them all again?" Napoleon was saying as he downed another glass of vodka and filled it up again, spilling as much as he got in the glass. "You are the language guy, you speak more languages than I can name. Well, you did."

Illya shook his head and filled his own glass. "Maybe, but it wouldn't be the same. Doesn't matter how long I've spoken English, it still doesn't feel right, it's still a foreign language. I go home at the end of the day and I can be Russian, it's my real language."

"So? You'd still be able to learn it again."

"Yes, but it might feel like another foreign language," He tried to explain through the drunken haze to someone who didn't understand, "I couldn't bear to speak my own language as a foreign one."

"You," pronounced Napoleon, jabbing a finger towards the two faces of the blond man opposite him, which were swimming about madly before his eyes, "are a very, very strange man." Then he fell off his chair and landed with a painful sounding thump on the floor.

Illya almost smiled as he got up to help him. "Maybe so, but at least I can hold my vodka."

"I'm holding it, it's still in there." Napoleon assured him.

"I wonder for how long," Illya said. Napoleon dragged himself back onto the chair and fell asleep with his head on the table. Illya wisely decided to move the bottle out of his reach.

He didn't know why he had called Napoleon, calling Waverly should have been the thing to do. He would have had a much more unpleasant time if he had, though. For all his faults, Napoleon was a good friend and he always seemed to know the thing to do. Illya had almost had fun, despite everything. He would deal with his problems in the morning.

He helped Napoleon up and deposited him on the couch, then stumbled into his bedroom and fell asleep on top of the sheets.

The headache was what finally woke Napoleon from his dreamless sleep. He couldn't find a comfortable position to put his head so that the pain didn't bother him. Whatever he had done last night, he decided, it had involved a lot of drinking. He cautiously opened his eyes, slowly to avoid hurting them with the sunlight coming through the curtains, then he looked around in surprise. He had been sleeping on Illya's couch? Why was that? Then the events of the night before came back to him in a rush, Illya's phone call, rushing around to see what had happened, vodka. They had talked for a long time, he could remember some of it, but most of the night had disappeared into the alcohol.

There was a sound, an irritating beeping sound that he wished would stop. He covered his ears and looked around for the offending object. Eventually he found it in his jacket pocket, his communicator. "Solo here," he croaked.

"Mr Solo," said an irritated Mr. Waverly, "Where are you? We were expecting you two hours ago and you haven't been answering your telephone."

Oh dear. "I'm sorry sir." He said, sitting up, "I'm at Illya's, we've found THRUSH's surprise. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good, you can bring Mr. Kuryakin with you," Waverly told him, "I need to ask him a few questions."

Illya was sat at the table again, this time reading something with an intense look of concentration on his face. Napoleon looked at his watch and realised it was past eleven o'clock. He stood up, wincing at the pain in his head. Illya looked at him. "Good morning," he said, "I have aspirin in the cupboard and water in the tap."

Napoleon nodded, then wished he hadn't. He made his way slowly and painfully to the kitchen and helped himself to three aspirins and a large glass of ice cold water. He felt better immediately for the drink and hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.

He looked back at Illya, still reading. "Waverly wants to see both of us," he told him. Illya nodded. "What are you reading?" he asked.

The Russian smiled sadly, "Oh nothing," he said, "We should go, you are late."

Napoleon wished he could have gone home first, brushed his teeth, had a shave, changed his clothes at least, but Illya was right, they had to go. He followed him out the door, wondering when the headache would fade. As he passed the table he glanced at the book laying closed. 'Russian for Beginners'. He nodded to himself. Illya had gotten up early, gone to the bookstore and was trying to teach himself his own language from a book. That was exactly like him, he didn't let things beat him. If they never found the boy, if they couldn't make him undo what he had done, Illya was going to carry on. Napoleon found a new respect for his friend, he was a braver man than he had given him credit for.

Illya insisted that he drove, Napoleon was probably still drunk, and if not he was still not fit to be behind the wheel. Napoleon had given in without a fight and was sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window. "Remind me never to drink again." He told Illya, "I don't even like vodka."

"You Americans weren't built to drink, were you?" Said Illya, echoing Napoleon's words about heat from the day before. Napoleon scowled at him.


	3. Act 3: The Upstairs Window

"This must be very disconcerting for you, Mr. Kuryakin," said Waverly, "But I must say I am glad it wasn't something more dangerous." Illya nodded. "Do you think you are fit to work?" Waverly asked.

"As long as I don't need to translate anything or speak another language." said Illya, slightly glumly.

Waverly nodded, "That shouldn't be a problem for the time being." He said, and handed Illya a small pile of photographs. "Based on your description of the THRUSH agent you saw yesterday with the boy, we have searched through our files for photographs of suspected agents that fit your basic description. Is he among them?"

Illya took the photographs and looked carefully at them one at a time, in some it was difficult to properly make out the features of the men. Most of the pictures had not been taken under the best conditions. Eventually he found one that looked right. It was definitely him. The photograph was dark and difficult to see, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was looking at the man he saw the day before. "This one," he said, handing the photograph back.

Waverly looked at the photo that Illya had chosen. It was as he had suspected. "We seem to have a problem." He said. He his button on the table, "can you bring in the file," he said to the secretary who was waiting outside the room. The door opened and she walked in and handed a file to Mr. Waverly.

"Hello," said Napoleon with a smile, she was new, he had never seen her before. He wanted to make a good first impression. The woman glanced at him then left without giving any response. Napoleon wished again that he had been able to change his clothes and have a shave before he went in.

"Would you take a look at this man's photograph." Waverly said, handing the file to Illya.

Illya opened it and looked at the man. It was the same person, only much younger. "It's him again." He said. He looked at the name underneath the photograph, 'Michael Jung.' "The boy's grandfather?" he asked. "I thought he died seven years ago."

"Yes," said Waverly, "but we have had our suspicions for a long time. Before he was killed we suspected him of being a double agent but we were never able to prove it. He was kept away from any information that may have been useful to THRUSH and we sometimes used him to give them false information. He was most useful sometimes. When he died we never actually found the body, so there were suspicions there too, but the only proof we have had so far is a bad photograph of a similar looking man and the name he is using. It seems he had been calling himself Mr. Uebel. You have just confirmed ten years of suspicion Mr. Kuryakin"

"Do we know anything else about this man?" asked Napoleon, any clues about where we might find him, anything like that?"

Waverly smiled. "That's the good part gentlemen," he said. "Since we were unsure about our suspicions and he has never been an actual threat to UNCLE, it was just never worth checking it out before. But it seems that there is one Mr. Uebel listed in the telephone book, I'm willing to wager he's our man."

"Well then," Said Napoleon, "we should go and pay Mr. Uebel a little visit."

"I believe you should." Said Waverly, handing him a piece of paper with an address written on it. They both got up to leave. "Mr. Kuryakin, are you certain you feel up to going?" Waverly asked him.

Illya nodded definitely. He wouldn't miss this for anything. "Yes sir." He said.

"Mr Solo, before you do anything else, change your clothes and have a shave, for goodness sake. You are letting the side down." Shouted Waverly after them as they went through the door. Outside the secretary smiled into her cup of coffee and looked away so as not to catch his eye. Napoleon pretended not to notice.

They drove to Napoleon's apartment, where Illya waited impatiently for him to have a very quick shower and shave, then drove to the address Waverly had given them. Napoleon drove this time, and Illya hung on to the side of that car for dear life as they whizzed around corners. He was glad they were going to get there quickly, and he was flattered that Napoleon cared enough to risk both their lives to get there ten minutes earlier, but he would have preferred to take a little longer and arrive in one piece.

It was only when they reached the neighborhood they were aiming for that the car slowed to a normal speed so as not to attract attention. The address was a reasonably large detached house in a pleasant suburb. Illya wondered why it had never been checked out before, even if it was only to confirm whether Uebel and Jung were the same person. Even if they weren't, and Illya had no doubt that they were, there was no way the two men could not have looked so similar, he prided himself on his memory for faces. But even if they weren't, the man who lived in this house was a suspected THRUSH agent, someone should at least have been keeping an eye on him to find out whether he was.

"What should we do?" asked Illya as Napoleon pulled up a short distance from the house. "There is an open window on the second floor, we could get in that way."

Napoleon looked at where his friend was pointing and shook his head. "I think it'd be easier to knock on the door first, there could be some innocent old man in here, we don't want to scare him to death."

Illya shrugged and followed his partner up the garden path. He would have preferred to arrive unannounced, but this way would probably work just as well. They had decided not to split up this time in case the boy was there, hoping he couldn't use his abilities against both of them at once. Napoleon knocked calmly on the door and waited for an answer. Illya stood back slightly, ready to draw his gun if Uebel answered. They waited, then knocked again but no one opened the door.

"I think we should try your upstairs window idea then." Suggested Napoleon, "I just hope someone isn't too busy up there and that's why they're not answering."

Illya climbed up the drainpipe first and pulled himself into the window, followed by Napoleon. The room was a small bedroom with a single bed and a wardrobe. Illya checked under the bed and inside the wardrobe, there was nothing there. They silently crept out of the room and into the next. "maybe we should split up." whispered Illya, despite the fact that they had decided not to.

Napoleon shook his head, "That's what caused all this trouble in the first place." He answered.

They checked all the upstairs rooms and moved downstairs, the stairs creaked, possibly tipping off anyone who was home that someone had broken in. Downstairs, the house seemed to be empty too, until Napoleon noticed a small part of the carpet in the kitchen had been cut away and put back. He lifted up the piece and underneath was a trapdoor, leading to the basement.

Uebel had fled to his underground sanctuary after seeing the UNCLE agents get out of their car and approach his house. He had been right, THRUSH's plan to scare UNCLE off had backfired and had the opposite effect. If they hadn't deliberately involved them, they wouldn't even have known about the boy's existence. He had known what would happen, he did work with UNCLE for thirty years, he knew how they worked. They didn't back off, and now the Russian wanted revenge. Uebel had had no choice in the matter, he was simply told what to do and did it. He doubted he would have been involved at all if it wasn't for his daughter and grandson.

He had not wanted to argue when he was told to take Karl from his mother, he had been waiting for the opportunity to spend more time with his grandson for so long. The boy's mother had told him she never wanted to see him again when she realized he was the one that pulled the trigger of the gun that killed her fiancé. It was an understandable reaction, but since then he had been forced to meet with Karl secretly and warn him not to mention his abilities to his mother.

Karl had been a huge shock to THRUSH. They had deliberately chosen people with the most compatible genes and most likely to produce children with heightened brain activity. That was why he had been approached by THRUSH to become a double agent, they wanted his genes. But when his daughter, Karin had fallen in love with a man and became pregnant with his child before they had a chance to make her produce children with a chosen partner, THRUSH had not been pleased. It had been decided that Karin's lover would be removed and she would still be given the chance to be useful to the project. Uebel, when he was still called Jung, had been chosen to kill him. It was a decision he regretted, it caused him to lose his daughter when she found out the truth, and to this day he did not know how she had discovered. THRUSH regretted giving him the order to fire too, because it turned out that the child they thought they did not want was the one they had been waiting for. His abilities were far in advance of anything the scientists had dreamed of and many generations earlier then they had expected. The boy was a prodigy, and if his father had lived, they may have been able to create more like him.

As it happened, the father was dead and the daughter would not listen to talk of the project. It had fallen upon Uebel to meet secretly with his grandson and convince him to side with THRUSH, then eventually to go with him to America where his talents would be put to good use and he could be used to create equally gifted children. Meanwhile his mother was instructed to contact UNCLE, believing her son would be in danger if she did not.

The plan would have been perfect, thought Uebel as he heard the trapdoor to his office open and crouched behind his desk with his gun ready, but tipping UNCLE off this early was the worst thing THRUSH could have done.

Napoleon climbed down the ladder first, holding on with his left hand and keeping his gun in his right. Illya followed him down into the underground room decorated like a study. It seemed to be empty, but it was full of hiding places.

Uebel wasn't sure what to do, he hadn't thought they would find his office and had counted on them going away and leaving him safely hidden. He considered shooting them as they climbed down the ladder, but decided that he would give himself away and after he shot one agent, the other would shoot him. Uebel didn't want to die, and he didn't want to give himself up or to be caught, so he didn't know what else to do but stay still and quiet and hope they didn't notice the small cupboard that could only be found if you crawled underneath the desk and felt for the concealed latch. Unfortunately for Uebel, that was just what Illya did.

Uebel had his gun ready to fire, but still did not. Illya opened the concealed hiding place and moved   
back, expecting that if Uebel was in there he would fire or at least try to hit him. Nothing happened. He peered around again and looked into the cupboard at the man crouched there. His confidence of the day before had faded completely without the boy to protect him and he put his gun on the floor, then crawled out of the desk with his hands raised.

The two UNCLE agents stood at either side of Uebel with guns ready to fire. "Where's the boy?" Asked Napoleon in a too calm way that made Uebel's heart beat faster with fear

"Why should I tell you?" He asked.

Napoleon looked at Illya, "You want to explain?"

Illya nodded, "You should tell us because we both have guns pointed at your head and if you remain silent we may have to shoot you." He said, equally calmly.

Uebel swallowed and nodded. It had been a good answer. "He's not here, they're keeping him somewhere else."

"And where is that?" said Napoleon.

Uebel shook his head, "I don't know, really, they've taken him somewhere for some tests or something. I didn't ask where."

"Make them bring him here." Illya told him.

"I can't."

Illya's gun was pressed against the man's temple and he wore a look of suppressed fury, "I think that you can." He told him, and pushed the telephone on the desk closer.


	4. Act 4: Superpowers

Uebel had reluctantly telephoned THRUSH headquarters and asked them to bring his grandson home, they had not been pleased, but he had managed to convince them, and since he had superiority over most of the people at the training complex and he was related to the child, they eventually agreed. He wasn't sure whether they believed his story, and hoped they didn't. He knew that the UNCLE agents wanted to take Karl away, and it would be more difficult if half a dozen THRUSH men with guns arrived. If not though, Karl would simply think them into not being any trouble.

"How did you manage to get a grandson with superpowers, Mr. Uebel?" asked Napoleon, trying to make polite conversation and get some information out of the man at the same time. Uebel remained silent. "Was it some kind of lucky accident? Selective breeding?" There was no reply. He tried again, "Does his mother know you have him?" If she was working for THRUSH she was a very good actress, she had been quite convincing, but something had been strange about this affair right from the start, and the start had been when Karin Jung had contacted UNCLE.

Uebel sighed silently, what did he care if the UNCLE agents found out a little information, they would never have the chance to tell anyone about it. "We have had a program of selective breeding for several generations, I was part of it, as was my daughter. She does know that I have her son, but she is not working for us. She has not spoken to me for eleven years."

"What of his father?" asked Illya, "and siblings? Are there more like him?" The idea chilled him to the bone.

"His father is dead." Uebel told them, "and I do not need to give you any more information."

They sat in silence for several minutes until Illya said quietly, "You killed him, didn't you?" Uebel did not reply, but the look on the man's face was enough of an answer, the guilt and regret of a man that had killed the man his daughter loved, mixed with grim determination to do what was asked of him by his superiors. "I thought so." said Illya. Then the silence returned again.

Uebel sat at his desk and watched the UNCLE agents watching him, wishing again that he had told THRUSH their plan wouldn't work, that UNCLE didn't scare that easily. Still, when the boy arrived they would no longer be any trouble, he would tell him to do something that would guarantee they would never be a threat again. He would get him to send one of them back to UNCLE programmed to kill that irritating Waverly. He had never liked him when he worked for UNCLE and he must have been the one that sent them to his house. The American, he decided, would do that. As for the other one, well if they couldn't scare him off by making him forget his own language then he would forget English too. Or maybe he would just forget how to breathe.

His thoughts were interrupted by the trapdoor opening again. "Großvater?" said Karl's voice, "Bist du da?"

The fools at THRUSH had sent him alone. "I am here Karl," he replied, his eye flicked briefly over to Illya and he smiled slightly, "and we are speaking in English today so that Mr. Kuryakin can understand us."

All his confidence of the previous day had returned now that he had a weapon to protect him from the agents. Illya knew that Uebel was trying to provoke a reaction in him, and he wasn't going to rise to the bait. He sat still, resisting the urge to hit the double agent about the head until he forgot a few languages too. "Please come down here, Karl." He said.

The boy climbed cautiously down the ladder and looked at his grandfather and the two UNCLE agents with guns. Uebel smiled warmly at him and Illya and Napoleon exchanged a look, realizing simultaneously that they had little defense against the boy and that he was going to side with his grandfather.

"Karl, I'm sorry I had to interrupt what you were doing. These two men have come to take you away. I need you to deal with them, then we can get you back to your training."

Karl turned towards Illya and Napoleon. Napoleon kept his gun aimed at Uebel while Illya moved his to his side. "I thought I would save you the trouble of doing it for me this time." he said.

"What would you like me to do?" Karl asked his grandfather.

Uebel thought for a moment. His plans that he made earlier would do nicely, he decided. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he had the chance to speak, Illya interrupted. "Karl, before you do anything you should know what kind of man your grandfather is." he said, "Did you know that he is the one that killed your father?"  
Uebel put on a show of horror and disgust. "I did no such thing!" he exclaimed.

Karl looked unconvinced. "Yes you did," he said simply.

Uebel shot a look of anger at Illya then turned back to his grandson, "Okay, I did." He said, "you read my mind, you know it's true. Here's something else that's true, you are going to do exactly what I tell you. You are working for THRUSH and you are going to deal with these two men. If you do not, your mother will die too."

For the first time since he arrived, Karl's face which had been an expressionless blank seemed to show an emotion, it was not the fear Napoleon and Illya would have expected to see on a boy who has heard his mother's life threatened, it was hurt. He looked his grandfather in the eye. "You thought I would turn against you because of what you did to my father." He told him, "I would not have. I have always known that it was you, your mind is an open book to me, I never cared." Uebel looked confused, so Karl explained, "I never knew my father so it did not matter to me that he was dead. I had you and I had my mother so I did not need him. In fact, when I was four years old I told her that it was. She assumed you had spoken to me about it, I never corrected her."

Uebel realized he had made a big mistake. His hands began to shake and he was sweating in fear. The idea of harming his daughter had never occurred to him before, but in his anger at the UNCLE agent, he had snapped out with a threat that, once said, he realized that he meant. That wouldn't normally bother him, but he knew that Karl realized it too "Then do what I want you to do." He insisted, his voice shook slightly. The confidence was gone again.

"What I did not know," continued Karl, "was that you would threaten my mother, even out of anger or fear. I now see that she was right about you. I did not realize before what an evil man you were, and now you want to use me for evil too. I would rather not." His gaze hardened and Uebel struggled unsuccessfully to look away then collapsed onto the floor.

"What did you do to him?" asked Napoleon.

Karl smiled, "I erased his memory of everything to do with the Eugenics Project, my mother and I. He will not be a threat to her now. Don't worry, he will wake up fine in a few minutes, with perhaps a slight headache."

"Undo it." Illya told him sharply. Not only did they need to question Uebel, but after what the boy had done to him, he not like the idea erasing people's memories, even the enemy's.

Karl shook his head apologetically, "It is not possible," he explained, "even if I wanted to, and I do not. Once something is erased it cannot be brought back."

It couldn't be. Illya felt all the strength leave his body and he sunk down into a chair, defeated. Napoleon hesitated, then rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He did not even notice. There was nothing that could be done. He had lost his mother tongue for good. He would have to relearn from the beginning as a foreigner.

No one said anything for a few minutes until Karl hesitantly asked, "Mr Kuryakin?"

"Yes?" answered Illya

"I know you don't like that I can see your thoughts, but you are misunderstanding me."

Napoleon looked up at him, "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I can do nothing about something I have erased, but in Mr. Kuryakin's case I simply built a barrier separating the languages he has lost from the rest of his mind. Restoring them would simply be a matter of removing the barrier."

"You could do it now?" Illya asked, looking up, hopeful again and not wanting the opportunity to be lost if the boy disappeared.

Karl nodded, "This will not hurt," he assured him, "and it should not cause a headache this time." He fixed his gaze to Illya's blue eyes and stared unblinkingly for almost a minute. Then stopped. "There." 

He said. Illya blinked in confusion and disappointment. It had not worked, everything was exactly as it had been before.

Napoleon looked at him questioningly and he shook his head in reply.

"It would be difficult for your mind to cope if everything came back at once," Karl explained, "so the barrier is coming down slowly. Things should start coming back soon."

"Good," said Napoleon. He looked at Illya, making sure that he was all right, "then we should get going, we'll take Mr. Uebel back with us, I'm sure there's something we can do with him, even if he has forgotten about this project. Karl, if you don't mind we'll have a few questions for you too, then we can get you on the next plane back to your mother."

"No problem." Said Karl, he didn't want to tell them anything, but he was tired and it would be easier to go along then be evasive or lie than try to control them, he wanted to get home.

He climbed the ladder and held the trapdoor open for the two UNCLE agents who were carrying the unconscious Uebel. They tried not to look too conspicuous as they carried him to the car and strapped him into one of the back seats. Illya got into the back in case he woke up and Karl rode in the passenger seat, anxious to get out of UNCLE's way so that he could get on with is own plans. He doubted they would approve.

Napoleon smiled happily to himself. Things had turned out perfectly, Illya was going to be all right, they caught the THRUSH agent and the boy was safe. His hangover had even faded away. Despite his decision on alcohol that morning, maybe another night of drinking with Illya wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. He had enjoyed most of the parts of the night that he remembered. "Hey, Illya, do you fancy a few drinks tonight to celebrate?" he asked over his shoulder. "Maybe we'll both be better company than yesterday."

Illya glanced up from the window, half lost in his own thoughts. "Maybe we will," he said, "but you still won't be able to hold your vodka." He turned back and closed his eyes, rejoicing in the indescribable pleasure of his languages returning, slowly dribbling in as Karl's barrier broke down. He felt whole again, like he was himself for the first time longer than he could remember. Slowly, against his will a large grin began to creep across his face, he didn't try to stop it. The first thing he was going to do when he got home was make a telephone call, he felt the need to speak Russian. He had few friends back in his homeland, but those he did have he were going to hear from him very soon. He had neglected that part of his life for too long, and he was never going to make that mistake again.


End file.
